


Toys

by Flappybirdmom



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Autistic Frisk, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Goat Mom Is Best Mom, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Mopey Asriel, Non-Binary Chara, Non-Binary Frisk, domestic sweetness, i promise there's fluff in here, kids trying their best, probably autistic Chara too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 06:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9872090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flappybirdmom/pseuds/Flappybirdmom
Summary: Sometimes, your siblings need a little bit of help to get along.





	

With a soft sigh, you adjust the oversized earphones that shield you from the storm outside. The boy on your laptop screen encases himself in a soft pink bubble. It isn’t the first time you’ve wished you could do the same.

For what is supposedly a happy ending, this timeline still features a great deal of turbulence. 

Not that it surprises you that much. After all, the house has never been fuller. And the fact that two of your reconstituted family are still not quite used to having a presence outside of a voice in your head, or as reanimated vegetation hardly makes life here in the sun smooth sailing.

Only a few minutes ago, the three of you had been clustered around the television, controllers in hand. After a great deal of incessant pestering, you’d at last relented, joining in with that fighting game they like. Something about smashing brothers.

You’d chosen your character-a boy in a cap. They’d shown you how to tint the colours, and laughed when you’d given him a blue outfit. Chara had instantly selected a brown-haired child with an incessant smile.  
Asriel had agonised over his decision, mumbling to himself about hitboxes and recovery moves, whatever that meant. Naturally, Chara had grown impatient, and moved the goat monster’s cursor over a blond boy with a red and yellow shirt. After a few small tweaks, Asriel had at last looked happy with his…well, Chara’s choice, and proceeded to the stage selection screen.

They’d prompted you to choose which arena you’d liked the best. You’d plumped for one called ‘Smashville’, largely because of the cute-looking animals you had spotted in the background. Both of them had applauded this selection, and the game had begun in a flash.

Unsurprisingly, Chara had been a fierce opponent, if a little too trigger happy as they felled trees left, right and centre, and pulled turnips from the ground to hurl in your direction. You’d stayed on the edge of the stage, making good use of your character’s absorptive shield once you’d finally worked out how it functioned.  
Once, you’d found some sort of purple and white gachapon capsule on the ground, which had surprisingly prompted shrieks of terror from both of your competitors as you’d tossed it across the stage.

You’d watched with mild fascination as a blue and silver winged creature unleashed a wave of energy across the stage. The percentages at the bottom of the screen shot up, shifting from white to dark red in a matter of seconds. The smiling child and blond boy were tossed high into the air, disappearing into specks of light as their life counters went down.

Asriel had made a valiant attempt to avenge his temporary death, shooting fire from his character’s hands in a flurry of button-mashing. He may have landed a few hits on you, but those were swiftly healed by your new prowess in magnetism.

Then, the screen had darkened. An invisible crowd had let out a gasp, which was swiftly echoed by Chara and Asriel as a multi-coloured orb appeared in the sky.  
Amidst a great deal of cursing on Chara’s part, the two of them had made a mad dash for the mysterious item. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but from their reactions, it seemed to be valuable. Still, you had used up your turn at inflicting damage.

Despite Chara’s wild leaping and punching, it was Asriel who dealt the final blow, shattering the ball and bathing his character in a rainbow of shifting light.

“Move!” Chara had screamed, momentarily abandoning their pursuit of pummelling everything in sight. Out of habit, you obeyed, scrambling over to a floating platform.

With a tiny smile, Asriel had pressed the ‘attack’ button on his controller. His character instantly paused in the centre of the stage, turning the screen dark as he summoned a barrage of shooting stars from nowhere. 

You and Chara were forced to watch as glowing projectiles sent you flying off the stage. Them, screeching in outrage, and you in resigned silence as your two characters disappeared with a crash and a column of light.

When the brown-haired child did not reappear alongside your avatar, you couldn’t help but peer over to Chara, who was filling your left ear with mutinous curses. 

“I don’t want to play anymore.” They had snarled, taking your controller rather roughly from your hand and giving the pause button a fierce tap. “This game is a stupid crock of shit.”

“You were having fun right up until I beat you.” Asriel reasoned, ever the patient friend. “Let’s finish the match, and then we’ll start another, okay?”

Chara was silent, until with a cruel voice, and a crueller smile, they’d sneered. “You’re only saying that because you’re going to win.”

“…Okay, maybe I am.” Asriel admitted. “But now it isn’t fun for anybody. Right, Frisk?”

You nodded. Chara had thrown a vicious scowl in your direction. 

“Oh, I see.” Their smile had grown broader, falser. “Of course, I was forgetting that it’s always _Chara_ who ruins everything. Good of you to remind me, Az.”

“That’s not what I meant!” cried Asriel, his brow furrowing for a moment as he squeezed his eyes shut, considering his words. “I…I just don’t get why you won’t allow one of us to win for a change.”

Chara let out a laugh. The cold one that filled your soul with an inkling of fear, try as you might to quash those thoughts.  
“You’re so _stupid_. Nobody’s ever going to just let you win. What, did you think that they’d hand over victory once they’ve found out that the prince of all monsters is nothing but a massive _cry baby_ -

“ _Stop it!_ ”

You saw how sparks crackled at Asriel’s fingertips for only a fragment of a second, coupled with a voice raised only a handful of insignificant decibels above his soft range. And yet, from the way he froze, staring down at his soft little paws, it was as though a flamethrower had erupted from them.

He took a step backwards, eyes wide, body heaving with a tide of magic, enough that you both well know doesn’t always fit inside his child-sized figure.

And for once, Chara did stop. For a moment, you thought you saw guilt flash in their eyes. It’s an uncommon enough expression on their face to make you ponder.  
But before your thoughts could gain much momentum, Asriel had already bolted, shielding his tear-stained face from Chara’s perpetual smirk. 

Not long after, Chara themself had stormed away, retreating to their room with an unrestrained roar, and the slam of a wooden door against its hinges. Which quickly turned into a great deal of slamming, since Toriel has all the knives under lock and key now.

And that had left you, as it often does, in the middle. At a loss of what to do.

You turn towards the window, relieved to spot Asriel in his usual place beneath the tree in the garden. From the looks of it, he’s pulling up the grass again. You’ve counted a lot of new bald patches recently. He’s told you he likes to find all the buttercups he can, and crush them beneath his fingers.

Crush them to dust, he says.

Another sigh racks your body as you glance back at the screen in front of you. The boy in your cartoon solves his problems by talking to people, only fighting when there is no other choice.

But…this is not your problem…and the people whose problem it is are most certainly not in the mood for talking to each other.

You find yourself wishing for Chara’s voice in your head, whispering ideas far cleverer than you could hope to think of.

But Chara is no longer in your head. They are just across the hallway. You can hear them chuckling to themself, the way they do when nothing is at all funny. You imagine their face behind the door opposite yours. A smile, like a huge tear in the fabric of their skin. A smile, because they don’t know how else to express that things are falling apart inside.  
Seeing your siblings so thoroughly miserable…it somehow fills you with determination. 

And determination is just what you need to come up with a plan.

* * *

When the sun hangs high in the air, and golden rays stream through your window, you leave your fortification of Nice Things. With a blanket still draped across your shoulders, you pad down the hallway, taking note of the utter silence emanating from Chara’s room as you pass.

You arrive in the kitchen, taking your place at the table. It’s empty, save for the bouquet of wildflowers in the centre. The ones that Asriel had picked, just the other day. You’d pointed out the ones with the brightest colours. Even Chara had helped, once they’d been bribed with the promise that they could be the one who trimmed them down to size.

“Hello, my child.” Toriel greets you with that soft smile of hers that you so love. You swing your legs back and forth beneath the table. “I hope you are feeling a little better?”  
You bob your head from side to side, humming a mid-pitch note. You’d truly be feeling content if things were back to how they should be. 

But they are not, and it is down to you to change things. You have your happy ending. It is time for others to have a turn.

All the same, Toriel nods warmly in understanding. She knows that even the smallest of fights leaves you drained, even when you are not an active participant. You marvel at your good fortune, finding a mother who treats these things as part of you, and not some malevolent entity that needs to be vanquished.

“Do you know if Asriel and Chara will be wanting some lunch?” she hesitates over the row of plates on the counter. Each one is decorated with the whorl of a snail shell.  
You’d told her the best you could of the morning’s events, once you could stop your hands from circling into apology after fragmented apology, and you willed the tears in your eyes not to splash across your cheeks. And Toriel had been so…so kind, assuring you again, and again that you were not to blame. 

Still, you cannot help but wonder, if you had not joined in with their game, whether your two very best friends would be holed up at opposite sides of the house.  
More guilt seeps in as you reply to her. “ _I didn’t ask._ ” You sign, shame-faced. “ _I just…didn’t want to disturb them._ ”

And Toriel’s eyes are still so soft, even though you’ve just admitted how selfish you are. Sometimes, this timeline still seems to be nothing but the most unattainable dream.  
“No matter.” She waves your doubts away, embers sparkling at the tips of her fingers in an unconscious gesture. “I am sure they shall join us in their own time.”

As content as you would be to live off butterscotch pie, Toriel is insistent that you shall maintain a balanced diet under her roof. 

You’ve been sworn to secrecy in regards to what you eat under _Asgore’s_ roof.

Still, you cannot complain when she places a plate of buttery mashed potatoes in front of you, topped with piping hot gravy. She’s even softened the carrots, just the way you like them.  
Chara prefers theirs extra crunchy, and slathered with maple syrup. You’re certain that they’d cover them with chocolate sauce, if Toriel permitted such a condiment in generous helpings.  
Asriel does not seem to care what is put in front of him, so long as it is edible. And if ever you or Chara do not eat every scrap on your plate, he’s more than agreeable to the proposition of finishing it off for you. He is a growing boy, after all.

As though lured in by the scent of a hot meal, the prince of all monsters trudges through the front door a few moments later, his brow still knitted in worry. He does not raise his head to acknowledge you, or his mother. You feel shame radiating from him in great, suffocating waves.  
Toriel glances down at her son’s green-stained paws, before directing him with gentle words to the bathroom in the hall. In the short moments of quiet that follow, you listen as he blasts himself with what sounds like a jet of ice cold water.

Chara emerges from the depths of their room as you’re deconstructing your potato tower, their hair mussed beneath the oversized, blood-red hoodie they’ve become so partial to. They sit down beside you without a word.

You notice the new white lines scored down their cheeks. You’re sure Toriel does, too, but neither of you mention it as they bury their fork into a cube of pre-cut carrot.  
Asriel returns from the bathroom, halting in the doorway when he spots the newly-filled seat. His lip quavers, and he takes a deep breath, looking for all the world as though he is about to speak.  
Instead, he swallows his words, scurrying over to the chair on your other side, and giving his mother a weak smile as she presents him with his own plate.  
As the three of you make headway with your lunch, you thank assorted higher powers that Toriel decides to break the thunderous silence. 

“My children. This afternoon, I shall going into town for a few supplies. Would any of you like to join me?”

Chara replies with a grunt that sounds overwhelmingly negative, stabbing at their potato with renewed fervour.  
Asriel says nothing at all, pushing his carrots to and fro on his plate.  
You raise your hand with a grin, the beginnings of your plan slotting into place. Chara narrows their eyes at you from across the table, seething with betrayal. You can hardly find it in you to worry too much.

Toriel nods approvingly. “Very good. Whilst Frisk and I are out, perhaps you two could attempt to resolve your conflict?” she punctuates with a meaningful stare towards her other two children.  


Asriel glumly gulps down a mouthful of potato.

Chara snorts, fist clenched around their fork.

Under the table, you give your hands an excitable flap. The thrill of enacting your secret plan hits you with full force.  
You are determined not to fail this mission.

* * *

As ever, it is only once you are in the midst of Ebott Town that you are struck by the reality of this timeline.

You had expected for humans to remain the overwhelming majority, asserting their entitlement over the newcomers, banding together to quash what they did not understand. That is what humans always strive to do, after all.

But instead, the scene before you brings a smile to your face.

The monsters-your friends-have assimilated far better than you could have ever wished for. In amongst estate agents, hardware stores, post offices and pharmacies, other shops have sprung up, run by faces you know ever so well: Gerson’s antique emporium. Muffet’s gourmet tea shop. And you’ll never forget raising a tankard of ketchup with Sans, the day Grillby opened his new flagship diner.

Monsters have found places to work, to play, to live. Human children exclaim with delight as their monster friends demonstrate all manner of magic. Parents watch on, with the knowledge that no harm will befall their offspring in this new age of peace.

Your fingers flutter, intertwined with Toriel’s plush paw. Allowing her to guide you, still, just feels right. She smiles fondly down at you whilst you give the pink pad of her palm an absent-minded squish.

“Hey, look!” an elephant monster calls out as the two of you pass, pointing at you with her trunk. “It’s Frisk!” 

Stares follow you here, just as they did before. Back then, they were filled with annoyance. Pity, for the child you’d stolen away from your parents. The child that monsters had to remind you did not exist.

But these ones feel different on your skin. They’re filled with gratitude, respect. Reverence even. For you are not just ‘Frisk’ any longer. You are Frisk, the third child of the former king and queen. Frisk, the ambassador for monsters amongst your human brethren. Frisk, the saviour of the Underground. 

You’re not sure how to feel, being more recognisable than the rulers of the world you’d tumbled into not so long ago. But beside you, Toriel beams with a pride so infectious that you cannot help but puff out your chest, just a little bit.

“What’re you doing here, Frisk?” the elephant girl jogs to catch up with your strides. “Are you on important state business?”

“ _No._ ” you sign, with a smile and a shake of your head. “Just shopping.”

“I’ll bet it’s important shopping, though.” She flatters, eyes wide with admiration. “I really wanted to get some new human books, but my dad says we came for _drill parts._ ” 

Toriel stifles a giggle as the young monster rolls her eyes. The girl’s gaze shifts from you to the former queen. _Your mother_.

“Oh! Your…um…Majesty?” she flounders. “I didn’t mean to keep you from your important royal shopping…”

“Please do not be concerned, my child.” Toriel holds up a patient hand. “There is still plenty of time in the day, is there not?” she glances over to the hardware shop over the road. “Though, perhaps if you were to aid your father in his quest for…drill parts, then he may reward you with the literature you sought.”

“Oh!” the elephant monster’s eyes light up. “You’re right!” She begins to scurry across the street, waving to you as she goes. “That’s a really smart idea. Thanks a bunch, Your Majesty! And I’ll see you later, right, Frisk?”

You nod until she’s safely on the opposite side, the sound of her voice fading away.  
Still grinning, Toriel turns back to you. “I must admit, I still do enjoy helping our kind, even if I am their queen no longer. Especially if their plights are of an educational nature.”

You smile up at her. “ _I must have learned from the best._ ”

She gives your hand a squeeze, her voice hoarse when she responds, rather than the brisk tone you imagine she was attempting. “Come along, my child. We have plenty to do, after all.”

* * *

Upon your emergence back onto the Surface, it had taken a while for you to adjust to the prospect of visiting a supermarket again. The small shops you frequented whilst underground were invariably cosy, softly-lit establishments. Worlds away from the dazzling glare of fluorescence above your head, and crackling metallic voices that waft from speakers you can’t see.

Toriel doesn’t mind at all when you follow her on tiptoes, hands hidden in the familiar fibres of your beloved sweater as you flap the sleeves vigorously in front of you. She doesn’t raise her voice when you vocalise staccato notes of your own to block out the rumble of a dozen shopping trollies. When your fingers splay out on instinct to brush across the unbroken line of clothes on display, she does not reach over to swat your hand away.

“My child.” She halts you with a hand on your shoulder. “I am aware that this environment upsets you so. Since that is the case, may I ask why you chose to come with me?”

You remain silent, fixing your gaze on the crescents embedded in your palm.

She follows your eyes, inclining her head a little. If you were to reach up, you could stroke her soft, soft ears. “I wonder if it pertains to the events of this morning?” she prompts.

However much Chara has coaxed you into trying, you simply cannot lie to Toriel. You give her a tiny nod, signing with clammy hands. “ _I needed to come. I need to fix it._ ”

She looks down at you with velvet eyes, wearing a smile filled with understanding. “Frisk…my dear child. You saddle yourself with such responsibility, I often wonder why.”

You aren’t sure you can string together a response. Taking responsibility is just something that you do. That is how it has been for as long as you can remember.

It is because of you that the people around you always seem to be at odds. It is because of you that adults sometimes forget to make their hands soft and loving. It is because of you that they disappear into the night, and you wake up, head throbbing, on the mountain, and then-

You pause, shooing away the droplets of salt water that cling to your eyelashes. Toriel is knelt down in front of you, trolley forgotten.

“I apologise, my child.” She cups your tear-stained face in warm hands, her own face flooded with guilt. “I did not mean to make you so upset. Please do forgive me.”  
With a resolute nod, hampered by sniffling, you wrap your arms around her neck, breathing in the same scent that drew you into her world: Soft curls of smoke, the crackle of cinnamon, and the deep, earthy tones of autumn leaves.

You’re not quite sure how, but all of those distinct notes blend together in your head, and you’re left with the fragrance of love.

“Now.” She murmurs, holding you at arm’s length. “What was it that you intended to do in order to solve the dispute back at home?”

You shake your head, wearing a rueful, watery smile as you tap your nose. 

“Oh, I see.” You spot how her eyes crinkle at the edges in a soundless laugh. “In that case, you will be wanting to attend to your plan without my supervision, yes?”  
She straightens up, stopping for a brief moment to ruffle your hair in just the way you like before returning to the trolley.  
“I shall trust you to get on with whatever your mission is. Just promise me one thing.”

You incline your head.

“If it so happens that things become overwhelming for you, then I ask you not to leave before first informing me. I would hate to lose track of you, even in such a familiar setting.”

With a nod of understanding, you shape your hands into well-worn words. “ _I promise. Thank you, Mom._ ”

She pushes the cart away in search of Chara’s only accepted brand of chocolate sauce. The corners of your mouth quirk upwards at her retreating form.

Having Toriel’s approval fills you with a new, refreshing burst of determination.

Training your thoughts on this warmth in your soul, and your gaze on the shine of your boots, you trot down the aisle, cataloguing the knotholes of the phantom stick in your hand. You’re almost disappointed when no monsters block your path.

The ground beneath your feet shines with a reflected light that makes your brow crumple. You suppose that this is in exchange for the smooth sheen of cold stone that you’d quite like to feel against your cheek. 

It’s nowhere near the perfect glassiness of Snowdin’s ice, or slick as the sprayed banks of Waterfall, but as far as sensations on the Surface go, it is a near enough substitute for your lip to twitch in reminiscence.

You’re dwarfed by the aisles that spring up in calculated formation on either side. Your arms swing in tandem, brushing up against the blur of products you pass by.  
That had been another part of life aboveground that you’d worked hard to scrub from your memory. The modest inventories of the shops below had been just the right size for you to process. But here, the endless, endless items on display could fill up every last dimensional box at your disposal. It makes your head hurt, considering the sheer amount of... _things_ that are now available to you. 

You hardly take in the objects that occupy the shelves. Your plan thrums low in your mind, loud enough to muffle the sounds of other shoppers.  
You reach out, grasp for the nearest display, and recoil in an instant when your fingers catch a texture that fills your skin with angry buzzing. 

With clenched fists, and an unconscious cry, you tear yourself away from the stiff strips of Velcro that have embedded themselves deep into your touch receptors.  
Chara may gain a great sense of enjoyment from tearing pieces of the stuff apart, vicious as they like, and hearing the harsh ripping noise. But they are no longer here to take charge when such things make you tremble with revulsion. 

You inhale a huge gulp of cold supermarket air, rather staler that the breezes of Snowdin. You’d give anything to have Asriel here now, to invest yourself in the feeling of his fur. It’s just the buffer that you need, against all these awful, nasty feelings that just won’t go away.

But…no. The whole reason you’ve subjected yourself to this is because your friends aren’t here right now. And you are the only one who can remedy the predicament that you had a hand in causing.

You uncurl your fingers, taking another steadying breath. Your hand grips the folds of your jumper, tight enough to swathe the prickling Velcro in soothing cloud of the familiar.

The people who love you, despite everything…they cannot afford for you to sob over a single, uncomfortable sensation. Asriel’s face would flood with worry, and inevitably crumple beneath his own feelings of inadequacy once he realised you were beyond his help.

Chara would most likely jeer at you. Though, you’d share a knowing glance between their barbed words. They’d gnaw their lip, lost in their own thoughts, and memories that you cannot distinguish as belonging to them or to you.

The discomfort that fills your house is far greater, far more important than a momentary trip into Sensory Hell. 

You swallow down the last of your nausea. After all, you have come so far. It would be a shame not to continue on.

You had not expected that such a straightforward trip would morph into almost as big a challenge as undoing countless years of dark history. Yet, when you at last reach your destination, you allow yourself a small sigh of relief.

You have arrived at the toy aisle, the most pleasing of places. The shelves here are no longer lined with awful sensations, but instead you’re greeted stuffed animals in neat rows. Most take the form of Surface-dwelling creatures, but your heart soars when you notice a few shaped to look like monsters, dotted here and there.

It takes every fibre of your being not to launch yourself into the mounds of plush, and softness, and wonderful warmth. 

You steel yourself, stroking your sleeve as a substitute. Of course, this is not a trip for your sake. The miserable faces of your siblings shimmer into existence at the back of your mind, spurning you past the soft things, past the MTT-brand action figures in their garish neon packaging, and towards the segment of the aisle that always makes a shopping trip worthwhile, marked ‘Sensory Toys.’

Buried beneath the sleeves of your jumper, your hands flutter, restless, as you gaze longingly at the rows of toys, built for people just like you and your siblings. You’ve never been more thankful for Asgore’s influence on the Ebott Town Council. 

Human currency jingles in your pocket, a good chunk of your savings. It’s been a while since you’ve treated yourself to something from the technicolour display. A Moldbygg made from soft, pastel rubber hangs down from a nearby shelf.

Despite yourself, you reach out to touch its gelatinous fronds, just for a moment, humming absent-mindedly when it sways against your palm. You’re almost tempted to wiggle your hips.  
You’re not sure quite why these small things fill you with such pleasure, but it stands to reason that there will be something amongst them that will engage your siblings in the same sort of way.

You tear your eyes, and hands, away from the toy, shifting from side to side as you consider the many, many choices in front of you. Far too many to fit into a nice, neat box like you could before. 

As ever, you must make a decision. Toriel is counting on you to complete your mission. At home, they are counting on you to provide a solution.

You ponder, wishing once again that you had been blessed with Chara’s intuition. You contemplate them. You contemplate Asriel. They are both so very different, and more different still than you yourself. This small section of the supermarket has not failed you yet. There must be something that appeals to one of them, at the very least. 

With determination, you push aside the items at the front of the shelves, careful not to get distracted by the conglomerate of textures your fingers encounter.

Just as you are about to lose hope, your hand closes in passing around a firm object, and you know in an instant that it is a perfect match for Chara.

Upon extricating your find from the back of the shelf, you notice with an exclamation of delight that another item has become ensnared to it in the process. As though it was intended that you purchase these two toys together. As though somebody knew the intended recipients.

You clutch both objects close to your chest, skipping down the aisle towards the row of checkouts. Chara would most likely chide you for bypassing the self-service lanes you know that they favour, but you’re sure you caught a glimpse of Bratty and Catty manning the tills.  
And you will never pass up an opportunity to reunite with old friends.

* * *

Once you finally return to the safety of home, your first thought is to collapse into the nearest chair, and not get up for an eternity. But you can’t do that. Not when there is still work to be done.

Instead, you shuffle into the living room, almost losing yourself in the crackle of the magical fire in the grate.

Chara is here, too. Curled into a cantankerous ball of displeasure on the sofa, with their knees drawn close to their face, and the string of their hoodie caught between their teeth. You smile to yourself whilst they gnaw unabashedly in front of you, rocking back and forth in their squatting stance.  
You commandeer a cushion on the opposite side of the settee, fishing a small bar of chocolate from your pocket, and sliding it across to them with only the briefest of glances in their direction.

“ _Mom says you can have that, if it’ll make you feel any better._ ”

Chara says nothing, but you see their eyes grow softer as they pick up the first of your gifts and give you a curt nod. Gratitude is something they’re still working on expressing. But they’re trying their best, and that certainly counts in your eyes.

For a few moments, the two of you are silent but for the scrunching of the foil-lined wrapper between Chara’s fingers. 

“ _Where is Asriel?_ ” You enquire, once they’re occupied with several chunks of their favourite treat. You use his name sign, creating a princely sash with one hand, and the horns of a goat with the other.

Chara purses their lips, flicking their hand in a careless fashion towards the stairs.

“ _Thank you._ ” You give them a smile. A hug would be preferable, but they feel as funny about being touched as you do about bright lights and prickly textures.

You spot their lip twitching as you leave them to their chocolate, but make no comment. You skip out into the hallway, ascending the stairs on a wave of optimism.

Asriel’s room is at the end of the hallway. The three of you had spent a great deal of time covering the door in stickers, which had inevitably devolved into a game of ‘Sticker Torture,’ as Chara liked to call it. Half of them had ended up clinging to Asriel’s fur. 

Out of habit, you knock on the wood, despite how many times Chara has simply burst in without any repercussions.

“Chara?” your brother’s voice quavers. A gargantuan sniffle penetrates the door. “Is that you?”

You hum a negative response, unable to stop the small seeds of disappointment from blooming in your mind. Even after a blazing row, you will always be his second choice to Chara.

“Oh…” You almost hear Asriel blushing. “Frisk? You can…um…you can come in, if you want…”

You pull open the door, revelling in the soft whoosh as it brushes against the carpet, and shape your face into a smile.

The young prince’s room seems to serve as an extension of the boy himself, all shades of green and yellow, furniture made from light wood, and an overwhelming sense of cleanliness that’s a far cry from the bomb-site you glimpsed through the crack in Chara’s door. Nothing that reminds him of his past mistakes.

Asriel himself is perched on his patchwork-quilted bed, looking as though he is a hesitant visitor in his own room. You cross the floor in a matter of steps, wiggling your toes in the grass-coloured carpet as you make yourself comfortable beside him.

“Frisk, I…” his voice is a weak whisper. “I don’t think you should be here…With me, I mean.”

You watch in silence as he clenches and unclenches his paws, staring down at himself in disgust.

“You saw what happened earlier.” The smile he wears when he looks up at you would not be out of place on Chara’s face. It’s a disconcerting sight when paired with his own soft features. “And…and you know what happened…before…”

For a fraction of a second, a thousand polychromatic stars flash behind your eyelids. 

You clear your head of the burning colours, staring back at Asriel. _The child_.

“I just don’t get why…why you’re all so…nice to me. After everything I did. Everyone I hurt.” 

You place a hand on his shaking shoulders. His sniffles grow louder.

“And now there’s proof, isn’t there? I haven’t changed one bit, not really. I’m still just as bad as I was, when….when I was Him, and-  
“ _Asriel._ ” Your hands are firm, your face set into a frown that makes your brother’s eyes widen. “ _You are a monster. And that means you are compassionate, and thoughtful, and…magical._ ”

The prince of all monsters wipes his nose on his sleeve, still trembling with stifled sobs.

“ _Magic and monsters go hand in hand.” As if to demonstrate, you slot your fingers between his, giving his paw a squeeze “And you shouldn’t let anyone take that away from you. Least of all yourself._ ”

“But…” his sharp little fang presses against his bottom lip. “What if I…forget, one day, and end up hurting you, or Chara? Because, for a moment…this morning, I…I did consider hurting them…I was really going to use my magic on my best friend…”

“ _It’s okay to be angry._ ” You briefly stroke his velvet ear. “ _You don’t have to earn that right. And the fact you’re up here, agonising over it is a pretty clear sign that you’re not as dreadful as you think._ ” 

Asriel places a claw between his teeth, chewing it in thought.

“ _All of us have made mistakes. Before, I thought that the best solution was always to RESET. But now we’re up here, I’ve realised that mistakes are not the end of the world. Not always, anyway..._ ”

Your hands still for a moment. Your brother combs his fingers through your hair, and you lean into his touch.

“ _I’m letting this timeline run its course. Because all of our mistakes…Mine, Yours, Chara’s…everyone’s….Those are what make us grow, and push us forwards._ ”

“You…er…you could say that they fill us all with determination?” 

Your mouth twitches. His does the same. “ _That, and also because I know that eventually, there will come a time when we all forgive each other._ ”

“You just can’t help but be the optimist, can you?” Asriel is still smiling, his brow only minutely furrowed.

You shrug. “ _I just believe that my family are good people, is all. Even if you lot can’t see it for yourselves._ ”

“How do you even do that?” he sighs. “I mean…Dad killed six children-probably seven, if I think about it. Mom refused to let any of them leave the Ruins. Chara…well, Chara did a lot of things…” he looks at you, incredulous. “Doesn’t it ever get really hard to forgive all of us for everything?”

You hum in thought for a moment. “ _It gets a lot easier once you forgive yourself. That’s the first step to solving anything._ ”

When you look up, he’s frowning again. “I…I want to…but then I just remember everything that happened, and it makes me wonder whether I really am who I was, back before everything…”

“ _The first part of your journey in self forgiveness is to embrace who you are now. So…who are you now, Asriel?_ ”

“I…” he breathes. “I’m…a monster, I guess…”

He’s still staring down at his fingers, as though they might start blasting fire of their own accord.

You give him an encouraging nod, slipping your hand into your pocket. “ _And your magic is part of you. It shouldn’t be hidden away._ ”  
You drop an object into his paws with a flourish. A coil of interlocking plastic pieces, alternating between sunny yellow and pea green. 

He peers at your gift, unfurling it into an irregular ring shape wide enough to fit around his wrist. “What’s this?”

“ _I got it for you when I was out with Mom. It’s called a Tangle. You can twist it around into all kinds of shapes, and it’ll keep your hands busy. I thought it might mimic the kind of motions you use in your magic. So you can still get better at that, even when it doesn’t feel good to actually conjure anything. Or if you’re feeling anxious about other things, you can fiddle with that instead of breaking your crayons. I know that upsets you, too._ ”

Asriel gives the Tangle a few experimental twists, a soft smile appearing on his face. 

“It’s perfect.” He murmurs, coiling his new toy around his fingers and stepping forward to embrace you. You almost melt into his warmth. “Thank you.” His breath tousles your hair.

You smile against his chest, freeing your hands for a moment. “ _I bought Chara something, too. But I think it would be best if you gave it to them._ ”  
“Oh…” Red spots appear on his cheeks. “Um…can I see what it is?”

From your other pocket, you produce a black cord, equipped with a breakaway clasp. You watch Asriel’s eyes widen as the pendant of the end of the string is revealed, made from firm rubber, and shaped like a golden flower.

* * *

Chara hasn’t thanked you yet. Not with words, at least. 

No matter. There are hundreds of other ways for them to show they’re grateful. And it’s hardly a though you’re a novice when it comes to nonverbal communication.

From the way their jaws are clamped down on the pendant, too sturdy for their even white teeth to chew through and dismember, it seems that you’ve found a worthy substitute for the frayed strings of their hoodie.

And right now, you’re almost certain that they’re up to something. Plotting with Asriel is one of their favourite hobbies, after all.

The prince of all monsters keeps nudging his sibling, in a way that, were it any other person, you’re sure Chara would be snarling in protest. The gift you bestowed on him has made a home between his soft fingers.

Quite how the two are able to conduct a whispered conversation with you so close by, and Toriel in the front seat, you’ll never know. You share a mystified glance with your mother in the rear-view mirror. 

She says nothing, smiling fondly at the three of you. The fact that she’s driving you to Asgore’s house doesn’t seem to be troubling her. Not in a way that’s visible to you from where you sit, anyway.

You watch Chara remove the rubber pendant from their mouth with a soft popping noise, shifting on the seat beside you for several moments. Then, seemingly spurned on by 

Asriel’s weak smile from their other side, they turn to you quite suddenly, in a way that seems to be rehearsed.

Your gaze slides over to Asriel, who leans close to your sibling’s ear. You decide to pretend you can’t hear his hushed prompts.

“For when you feel bad.” Chara blurts out in a flat voice, stuffing something into your hand before you can get a proper look. 

Behind their smile, you see them chewing their lip. If you knew better, you’d say that they were nervous. But Chara doesn’t get nervous. Not in the same ways you do.

You uncurl your fingers, blinking down at the object cradled in your palm. There’s a cord, just like the one around Chara’s neck. Hanging in place of a pendant is a tiny glass vial, filled with what looks like red glitter. 

You give it an experimental shake, watching each tiny particle shift and sparkle, a satisfied hum escaping your chest.  
“You can take the cork out, you know.” Chara prompts, unable to hide the eagerness in their voice.

You finger the tiny stopper, tugging it free in a decisive motion. In an instant, the scent of cinnamon blooms from around your neck. You inhale with a quiet sigh, clutching the bottle close to your heart.

“Az and I made it the other day.” Chara looks immensely pleased with themselves. “Now we all have toys, so it’s fair now, right?”

“You do…like it, don’t you?” Asriel murmurs, knotting his Tangle into complicated shapes as he speaks. “We know that cinnamon’s your favourite, so we thought it might…well, help you, having something nice that you can carry around all the time.”

You assure your siblings with a definitive nod, your lip twitching into a smile as the scent of love wreaths around the car. And now, thanks to their genius, it will stay with you wherever you may go.

The sudden brush of Chara’s hand in yours is a surprise. Without looking at you, they capture it in a firm squeeze, the familiar feeling of nails against your skin coaxing out a giggle as theirs slot into your palm.

They catch your eye, and for a moment, you wonder if they are going to engage in a heartfelt discussion. Over their shoulder, you see a glimmer of hope in Asriel’s eyes.

“Just wait until we get to Dad’s place. I’m going to mop the floor with you in Onett.”

 

_Close enough._


End file.
